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Little
Miss Rainbow

By
Amy Estes

Smashwords
Edition

Copyright
2017 Pink Leash Publishing with Estes Erotica

Smashwords
Edition, License Notes

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Disclaimer:
This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic, adult language,
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this is a work of complete fiction; it is intended as fantasy only.
No act or description is officially endorsed by the writer,
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Publisher’s
Note: This
is a work of fiction. All characters, places, businesses, and
incidents are from the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to
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assumed to be over the age of 18. The cover model is also over the
age of 18.

It is too early to wake up, so I keep my
eyes closed and I drift away from dreams, heading back into my last,
most vivid memory.

"Every
woman is a little girl at heart. That is the sad truth. You want to
know why you have such a hard time finding a girlfriend or a wife?
Well, the answer is simple," I said, standing on that stage.
Hundreds of eyes were directed up with me, a
young man who wanted to hear the truth.

Maybe
they found me online. Maybe a friend or brother or father suggested
they read one of my books. In any case, these guys understood the
truth. Or if they didn't, they were about to become much better
educated.

I
paused, letting those first words sink in. I could practically feel
the tension and energy within the room. "Every woman is a little
girl. Every woman wants to believe that she can be herself and that
she will somehow find a magical prince charming who will tell her
what she needs while somehow magically giving her everything she
wants. Women are chaotic. Women are erratic. Maybe part of that comes
from psychology or physiology. Frankly, I'm not a scientist. I don't
claim to be."

I
stood back, resting my hands on the edge of the podium. Then I
stepped away from the wooden façade. I strode up and down the
length of the stage, letting my focus wander over the different parts
of the room. This was an incredible turnout. I was going to sell a
lot of books and make a lot of money.

My
voice boomed through the room, amplified by the microphone I wore.
"Men are often honest enough to admit what we want in a partner.
We need someone who is going to be physically attractive, someone
energetic, and someone who is smart enough to keep up. As men, we are
able to admit the truth. But women? No."

At
that moment, I could've flipped a coin, and the sound of it hitting
the floor would have reverberated through the entire space. I
continued. "Women pretend that they are only interested in
romance. They want you to believe that they are looking for a good
guy, whatever that means. But that's not all true. Women want someone
who is going to be rich, someone who is going to be handsome, and
someone who's going to do whatever they want. And when they can't
find it, they call us jerks."

Someone
raised a hand.

Although
I hadn't planned on it, I pointed to that guy. "You have
something to add?"

"I—”
he began to say.

Interrupting
him, I commanded him, “Stand up. If you're going to talk to
everyone here at least be brave enough to stand up for your
convictions."

"I,
I'm not sure we can make these kinds of generalizations," he
said to me. This guy seemed nice enough, and I asked for his name.
"Danny,” he answered, doing his best not to appear
nervous.

"Danny,
I appreciate your honesty. I also appreciate your bravery," I
said, stalling for time. "If you are asking me whether or not
there are exceptions, I don't know. I haven't met every single woman
on the planet. For all I know, there is some really great girl out
there ready to be a good wife or a good girlfriend or a
good friend even. But to be completely blunt, I haven't met her. Like
I said before, I'm not a scientist. I am writing about my own
experiences. I'm discussing what I've learned in my travels and my
interactions. Danny, if you're not interested in hearing any of this,
you can leave right now. In fact, I will ask my manager to make sure
that you get your money back."

He
licked his lips, clearly nervous. He had probably never been
confronted like this before. After all, I was a celebrity. But more
importantly, I gave him a fair hearing. I considered his point of
view, and I returned with a rational suggestion.

"No
thank you," he said, taking his seat again.

A
different member of the audience started to clap, and I gave a little
bow. Danny's face probably turned bright red, but I was no longer
paying attention to him. Instead, I enjoyed that moment of adulation.

Then
I continued with my lecture.

The
memory jumps ahead. Different men asked me different questions, and I
gave them honest answers. I told them about how various conceptions
from the media could skew what women wanted from the men in their
lives. I talked about what could be done to modify a woman's
behavior, though I always cautioned my listeners to realize that
these were just suggestions.
What worked with my wife might not work with their women.

After
the lecture concluded, I signed hundreds of copies of my book. It
started out as a self published piece, but major publishing houses
had started to take an interest in my work. It helped that I could
fill lecture halls just like this one.

Once
I finished, I shook the hand of one more guy, and I started back
toward my car. Exhausted but excited, I wondered how long it would
take before I started hearing back from the major publishing houses.
Fantasizing about advances and negotiation tactics, I didn't see her
at first.

She
was seated on the hood of my car, her weight rested on her palms.

"Please
tell me you’re not a journalist," I said, with an
exasperated sigh.

"Nope."
She smiled at me, sliding off of the vehicle. She took several steps
closer, and there was something about this girl, something I couldn't
quite pin down.

"Are
you
here to tell me that I'm some misogynistic jerk? Or maybe you are
here to prove your maturity by throwing some cold coffee in my face?"
It wouldn't have been the first time, not that I really cared about
such petty acts of rebellion. As far as I was concerned, those
instances of female psychosis only proved my point.

"Aiden
Render, right?” she asked. She came closer, holding her hands
behind her back and swaying from side to side.

Frankly,
she didn't appear to be the usual feminist whacko.

“Let
me look into your eyes.”

O-kay…so
maybe she was the usual feminist whacko.

“Look,
I don’t know what you’re hoping to find, but I’m
going to get in my car and leave. Good day.”

“Stop.”

The
word rippled through my body. Electric tingles danced through my
skin. They started at my toes, and my feet rooted to the asphalt.

At
first, I turned my attention down toward my shoes, thinking I must've
stepped in something. This had
to be some sort of bizarre trap. The image of a bear trap shot
through my brain, but when I looked down, I only saw my feet on the
ground.

"You
really are a piece of work," she said to me.

"Who
are you?"

"Well,
I've had quite a few names over the years. But tonight, you called me
Danny. Of course, right now, Danielle would probably be more
appropriate."

I
opened my mouth, trying to figure this out. She strolled up to me,
and she cupped my cheek in her palm. She forced me to look up at her.
As I did so, her body started to change. Her hair got short, her jaw
got stronger, and her clothing shifted. Before I knew it, I was
looking at Danny, the guy from my lecture.

In
another moment, she started to change back. Her blonde hair, straight
bangs, and vivid green eyes all came back. Diamond earrings sparkled
at her earlobes, and she had on a heart shaped pendant. Her knitted
dress clung to her body, and a black, leather belt circled around her
waist.

"What
kind of trick was that?" I asked, my voice quivering despite my
best efforts not to sound impressed.

"No
trick. Magic."

"Magic
isn't—”

“Real?
Oh yes, it is. And I'm going to show you just how real it is. Not
only that, I'm going to punish you, Aiden. I'm going to teach you
what it means to really, truly irritate a witch like me."

A
which? She had to be kidding me. I attempted to turn my head to the
left or right, expecting to find a camera crew. This had to be some
kind of joke, I told myself. It had to be some kind of prank or game.
But somehow, this young, live woman managed to hold my attention.

She
looked into my eyes. "Aiden, when you wake up, you're going to
be in an entirely different life. You aren't going to be some strong
man who can get others to listen to him. You're not going to be big
or strong or intimidating."

A
gulp ran down my throat. My Adam's apple bobbed.

"Ask
me what I'm going to do to you."

At
first, I attempted to purse my lips. I tried to the best of my
ability, which just wasn't good enough. As she looked at me with
those green eyes, I couldn't help but stare into her emerald irises.
I could feel the pressure from her will as she exerted her desires
upon me.

It
was strange, having this girl inside my head. She was trying to
control me, and then she succeeded. "What, what you going to do
to me?"

"I'm
going to transform you. When you wake up, you're not going to be big
or strong anymore. You are going to be small and cute and dependent.
You're going to be so very pretty, and I'm going to have fun playing
with you. Now sleep."

Exhaling,
I don't think I want to open my eyes. Now that I'm back in the waking
world, I don't want to believe those memories are real.

Along
the inner recesses of my mind, I keep trying to tell myself that it
was a dream. Those memories are far too realistic to be fake. I can
tell the difference between a dream and a memory.

Unfortunately.

Okay,
I'm going to open my eyes, and when I do, I'm going to be back in my
bed. Alexandra is going to be next to me. And after
I do all of this, I'm going to climb on top of her, I'm going to pin
her beneath me, and I'm going to look into my wife's beautiful face.
I'm going to tell her that she belongs to me, and I'm going to enjoy
the way she smiles nervously when I take command.

When
I opened my eyes, I'm looking up at the ceiling, but there something
wrong. This room is too small. Not only that, I catch the hue of
cotton candy pink from the corners of my eyes.

Immediately,
I sit up, refusing to be intimidated by a dream. Only this isn't a
dream and this isn't my bedroom.

Right
away, I recognize the dimensions of the guest room. But the
decorations are all wrong. The walls are a bubblegum shade of pink,
and there are framed posters from princess movies. There is one of a
girl with long, blond hair and big, round eyes. In another picture, a
girl with brown hair is dancing with a prince. Not only that, I sit
up on my knees, and I find a little desk. I spot several stuffed
animals along the floor. There are two shelves covered in girls’
books about horses and child detectives.

Then
there's my bed itself.

Normally,
I wake up in a king size bed with my sexy wife. She only sleeps in
her panties. When we first got together, I told her I didn't want her
to wear anything else to bed. If she gets cold, I can always warm her
up.

Now,
I'm in a twin, and it seems so big to me.

I
don't understand, not until I look down at the rest of my body.
First, my gaze turns to my hands. They are small…they are
really small. Gulping, I sit up all the way, and I look down at my
tiny frame.

This
isn't the body of a man. This isn't the body of someone strong or
intimidating.

I'm
wearing a pink nightgown with a purple pony stenciled along the
front. I pull back my sleeves, and my arms are so thin and tiny!

In
the corner, there is a full-length mirror next to one of the
dressers. Right away, I force myself off of the bed, I trudge across
the room and take off my gown, hating it and all it represents.

Then
I am looking at my own reflection, and my breath catches in my
throat.